Soft Target (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Maggie stumbled into the kitchen toward the coffeepot. Gray was already busy, scrambling eggs with one hand and holding his coffee cup in the other. “Good morning.”

She reached for her mug and stopped. Grandma’s cookie jar was on the countertop, to the right of the stove, just where they’d kept it at home. She traced every bump, nick and crack in the homely piece of crockery, remembering every batch of burned cookies she’d made, every tug of war with Nate for the last treat in the jar. “How did this get here?”

“Faith brought it yesterday,” Graham said as he pulled biscuits from the oven. “Did I get it in the right spot?”

Maggie looked at the jar, and at the pan he was holding while he looked for someplace to set it. She lifted her treasure and moved it to the far side of the opposite counter, out of the way. It was her home. She could put it wherever she wanted.

Home.

“What’s on your schedule today?” he asked.

Her schedule had changed and shifted so drastically over the last few weeks, she had to stop and think. Monday.
Monday.

Graham turned to her, frowning.

“It’s Monday,” she said as she broke into a smile. “Thank you.”

He grinned back at her. “At least you don’t have to be afraid of the florist.”

“What are you doing today?” she asked as she perched on a stool and watched him cook. It never got old, watching him move around in this space, watching him make it his.

“I need to meet with Glen, and I’m going to Bill Granger’s, and Fitz called so I’m going to stop there while I’m out. Will you be okay alone at the bar?”

She nodded even as the pit in her stomach widened. She liked having him in the office, working and making snarky comments on her song choices. She’d even been planning lunch upstairs.

“I could make dinner,” she suggested.

“I’d like that. I’ll be there in plenty of time.”

They drove to town with the windows down. Maggie tilted her face to the sunshine and inhaled the sweet breeze. How many days of her life had been spent in work trucks on the way to town? How many had she been able to relax and enjoy?

They waved at Max as they pulled around back, and Graham walked her in. After he’d inspected the entire building, he came back to her at the door. “Behave.”

And then he kissed her. Not a sexy, rip-your-clothes-off kiss. It was more the quick peck a husband gives his wife when he expects to see her soon. As he pulled away, his eyes went wide, but he kept his hand at her waist.

“I’ll see you tonight,” she said.

And he left. Just like husbands did every day.

She had a husband.

Maggie walked up the stairs, rolling that word around and around until she reached the closet. She carried her boxes to the bed and sifted first through the relics from her first god-awful wedding. The chipped plastic bride and groom had icing petrified around their feet, and the bridal champagne glasses were covered in dust. She pulled the feather off the dried-up ink pen. She could use that for a cat toy. The only other things worth keeping were the photos.

Opening her travel box, she pulled out the first trip and flipped through her notes. They were yellow with age and the paper clips had rusted to the paper. The information was probably hopelessly outdated. The same for the next one. The later trips were still relevant, though.

Maggie looked from them to the photos scattered in her room. The breeze floated through the window and wrapped her in a sweet, fresh hug as the sun cast tree shadows on her walls and a gravel truck rattled past.

She was never taking those trips. Not ever. She didn’t want to.

* * *

It was late in the afternoon when the front door opened and the security system beeped hello. She walked out to the landing, and looked down to see Graham gazing up at her, waiting on her invitation. How many more times would she get to see that?

“Dinner’s almost ready. Come up.”

“Sorry I’m late. Emily Grainger kept me busy most of the day, and then Fitz kept asking me questions I had to look up. How was your day?”

From the kitchen, Maggie listened to him drop his briefcase and shed his jacket and admitted that her apartment felt more like a home when he was in it. Just like Faye’s house was more welcoming, even with a room full of suspects.

He came around the corner. “Badger?”

Snatching a pot holder, Maggie pulled the chicken from the oven. “My substitute bartender has asked if I could give him regular hours. It would mean having a few nights off.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“I think I like it, and I don’t think I need to be here every night with the guys, at least not all night, and maybe not behind the bar. How would you feel, while you’re here, if I was underfoot?”

“I’d like it.”

Those three little words warmed her soul. “Okay. Thanks.”

He got a beer from the refrigerator and leaned against the counter. “There were a lot of cars at the library when I drove past.”

“Mm-hmm. They had a meeting today about the next book sale.”

“Did you leave early?”

“Nope,” she said as she fussed with plates. “Didn’t go. That thing runs on autopilot and they don’t need me.”

He reached over her head to get a bowl she couldn’t reach, and she soaked in his warmth.

“Your pumpkin bread was a big hit. Emily asked for seconds,” he said, staying behind her.

“I’ll make another batch. You won’t have to eat more of it,” she assured him. “I can give it to Charlene.”

“I’ll eat it until I’m orange,” he teased as he turned her to face him. “Until vines come out my ears and my teeth fall out. A triangle nose might even be an improvement.”

“I like your nose,” she whispered, as she cupped his jaw and brushed his cheek with her thumb. She loved the feel of him, the sound of him. “And I lo—like your smile.” She gulped. That was too close to throwing herself at his feet and begging him to stay. She winked. “Everyone looks sexier with all their teeth.”

“Evil woman,” he scolded as his fingers slipped inside her overalls and under her shirt. His light touch skimmed her waist—forward and back, forward and back—smiling every time she twitched. “What else do you like about me?”

“Your laugh,” she murmured, “and your brain.” Her bones melted and took her common sense with them. She dragged one of his hands to her breast and sighed as he strummed her nipple. “Your hands.”

Maggie opened her eyes in time to see his tongue dart across his bottom lip. “Your mouth.” Sliding her hands to his ass, she pulled him closer and widened her stance in wanton invitation.

He covered her mouth with his in a deep, shattering kiss, and she gave herself over to it. Relishing the shaky fingers fumbling to undress her, loving the feel of his tongue.

But it wasn’t enough. Pushing him away, she tore open his belt, and clawed at the button on his jeans. He fought her, trying to get back to her body, and she welcomed him as she pushed her hand down his pants, dragging his zipper as she went. Even through his briefs, he was hot.

“God, honey,” he gasped against her neck as he clawed at his shirt.

He pulled away long enough to toss it aside and long enough for her to see his wild hair and hungry eyes. He slid his hands down her body, past her waist, to her ass, and smiled the most sinful smile as he stroked her flimsy underwear.

He used his thumbs to trace patterns on her stomach and flick the ring in her navel. Every touch zinged though her, and she arched into him, pleading for more.

“Tell me what you want,” Graham groaned against her breast, his breath heating her skin even as the lace kept his tongue away. His thumbs slid lower, between her legs—up, down, up down.

“Tell me,” he whispered. “Please.”

Him
. She wanted him.

Maggie slid her fingers into his hair and anchored him to her. Her pounding heart drowned out his hoarse groans and her needy, hungry whimpers. “Graham—”

It wasn’t her heart. It was the door.

“Gray? Maggie?” Max bellowed. “The guys are here. Are you okay?”

“Dammit all to hell,” Graham muttered as he dragged his lips from her skin.

Panting, she dropped her head to his shoulder. It was a conspiracy. A no-sex conspiracy.

The doorknob jiggled, and Graham groaned again.

“We lost track of the time,” he yelled, dragging deep breaths that moved them both. “Be down in a minute.”

Heavy steps thumped down the stairs.

“We never should have given him a key,” he whispered. “Are you okay?”

She shivered as his breath tickled her skin. “I’ve been better.”

“That’s difficult to believe.”

“Flirt.” She edged away and looked her fill at her disheveled, horny husband.

“You’re absolutely beautiful,” he murmured.

“You too.” She dragged her fingers down his chest, grinning as he shook beneath her.

He stepped in front of her and helped straighten her clothes. “Go on down. I’ll take a shower and be there in a few minutes.”

She raced down the stairs and stepped behind the bar. The guys did their best to tease her with smirks and eye-rolls, looking at their watches and craning their necks to look down the hallway. When Graham came downstairs with wet hair and a sheepish grin, laughter ebbed through the room even as Maggie’s knees wobbled. For the sake of their dignity, she banished him to the customer side of her job.

At ten, she locked the door, eager to finish so they could go upstairs. But then, why wait? She turned, only to find an empty room.

“I meant to ask before you distracted me,” Graham called from the janitorial closet. “Did you suggest Emily Grainger hire me?” The rattle of brooms and mops muffled his question.

He was going to clean? Now? “What? No.”

“Michael asked me about wills for him and Tiffany. And Hank Simon wants to hire me for a property purchase. What’s going on?”

“They like you, and they trust you.”

“But...”

But he wouldn’t be here to see either of those jobs through.

Stay.
The word was on the tip of her tongue. She’d take him upstairs and—what? Beg him to give up his life and stay here, working in quarries, dealing with problems and sweeping a bar after he’d already worked all day.

No wonder he’s leaving.

No, he wasn’t. He was doing her a favor, and then he was going home. She was staying, and she was letting him go.

She plucked a piece of paper from the floor and saw her name. Opening it revealed the words scrawled across the page. Everything went blurry as she dropped into a chair.

“What’s wrong?” His question sounded like he was on the other end of a tunnel.

She offered the note in a shaky hand.

Maggie

I saw what you were doing upstairs. I’ve watched you playing house, pretending for everyone. He’s lying to you, and he’s making a liar out of you. I would never do that. You should have picked me. You’ll be sorry you didn’t.

Maggie stayed in her chair, staring at her bar and rolling every face through her brain, vaguely aware of Graham’s bellow and Max’s gallop through the door. How did someone leave this without anyone noticing? How did he spy on her? Why?

Glen and Chet swept through the door with crime scene techs in tow. While Graham and Glen went to the office to review security footage, Maggie stayed in her chair under Max’s watchful eye.

She looked around the room she’d considered her safe place for so long. It wasn’t safe. There was only one place she wanted to be. She walked to the office doorway and waited for Graham’s intense blue stare to focus on her.

“Take me home, Graham.”

One corner of his mouth lifted in smile. “You bet.”

Practically running to keep up with him, she stayed at his side until he put her in the truck. Then she curled against him as he climbed behind the wheel. She stayed there until the garage door closed behind them.

“Stay here,” he clipped the order as he opened the door.

Holding her breath, she wrapped her phone in a tight grip and waited on his return. When he did, his smile was thin as he held out his hand. His bandages were dirty.

She led him to a kitchen stool. “Sit. Let me change those.”

As she worked, Gray, his pistol and his stiff jaw sat between her and the windows. “I can’t even kiss you without him taunting us.”

She stopped in mid-cleanup. “He watched us.”

Leaving the mess, she strode into his office and stared at their notes. Graham slid his hands around her waist. “What has your attention?”

At the moment, he captivated her.

His long fingers flexed. “Behave, Badger.”

Instead of turning to see the smile she could hear, Maggie straightened her spine and put space between them while she reviewed their time line. More and more information cluttered the butcher paper, and she was proud of her effort on the puzzle they’d crafted—even if it meant he’d be going.

Rather than dwelling on that, she focused on the eerie promises that had arrived every week until today.

“How did you get the notes?”

“I stole them out of your drawer and copied them on my first day of work.”

“Yeah, that’s not creepy at all.”

“If it’s any consolation, I felt like a jerk. Now, what?”

“Sunshine, new hair.” She pointed at specific notes. “He’s watching me from across the street.”

“How do you know that?”

“The haircut. I got one
way
too short right about here, and I kept looking at it in the mirror, pulling on it to make it grow. Don’t laugh. And I like sitting on the front deck in the sunshine.”

“He’d see you before you left for church, so he’d know what you were wearing.”

She sighed. If he didn’t go to church with her, it opened the field again. “It could still be anyone.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

It was almost dawn when Gray strode through the living room and down Maggie’s hallway. He ignored the cold sweat on his neck and his white knuckles as he knocked on the door. She opened it immediately, her silhouette visible in the dawn light, and he released the breath he’d been holding.

“Jerry Mitchell called. They’re flying Sarah out. I’d like—”

“Give me five minutes.”

They raced to the hospital and ran up the hall. Sarah was in tears. With his stomach twisting, Gray avoided all the tubes and wrapped the little girl in a gentle hug.

“Will you take care of Skippyjon?” she whimpered.

“You bet,” Gray said as he kissed her forehead. “We’ll finish our story when you get home.” He waved until the elevator door hid the gurney.

They left the hospital, emerging into brisk morning air under a blue sky. Gray watched the helicopter lift from the rooftop. Maggie wrapped her arms around his waist.

“She’ll be fine.”

He nodded and turned her toward the parking lot. They were almost to the truck when her phone rang.

“Now?” She tugged him to a stop. “We’re already here. Relax, we’re fine. Hang up and drive, Michael.” She disconnected the call and looked up at him. “We’re going to have a baby.”

Gray’s aches and worries were forgotten when he saw her smile. Without a word, he spun her back the way they’d come.

Within an hour, they were joined by their friends. Gray stared out the window, lost in his memories, until Maggie sat next to him and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Hospitals suck,” she whispered.

“They do,” he agreed as he took a blanket from Charlene and used it to cover Maggie before he tugged her close and lent her what support he could. Pulling her hand away from her teeth, he kept it in his. “Tiffany will be fine.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “I hate to worry alone.”

“Someone has to save your nails.”

“You save a lot more than my nails,” she whispered. “What you did for Sarah, helping me with this cock-eyed plot, what you’ve done for me.” She looked up at him. “Thank you.”

The warmth through his body had nothing to do with the blanket she was hogging and everything to do with her. “You’re welcome, honey. But I get something out of this, too.”

“Another job.” She snorted.

Gray looked around the room. Charlene leaned against Kevin while Faith entertained Nate. The nurses who recognized him from his visits to Sarah waved as they walked past. Maggie’s hand was warm in his.

He had more than a job. He had a family.

He had a problem.

* * *

Hours later, they piled into the hospital room and watched Tiffany and Michael fuss over a tiny bundle in a pink knit cap.

“Who wants to hold her?” Tiffany asked with a weary grin.

With growing anxiety, Gray watched the newborn pass from couple to couple. Babies weren’t standard at the FBI. What was he supposed to do? When Maggie cradled the infant in her arms, he pulled a chair close and helped her sit, careful not to jar her or move too quickly. He knelt and stared at the little girl’s tiny, perfect fingers before tentatively stroking her velvet cheek.

Michael did the introductions. “Her name is Marlene Michaela Antoinette Marx. Marlie. Maybe Mickie. Or Toni. Or Annie. We can’t decide.”

Ignoring the conversations swirling around them, Gray was captivated by the little girl. His scalp prickled, and he looked up into a group of smiling faces. He elbowed Maggie.

“Will you be her godparents?” Michael repeated his question.

“Us?” Issued in tandem, the response brought more levity to the situation than it deserved.

Gray held his breath as Maggie put the swaddled newborn in his arm and taught him how to hold her. The tiny head rested in his elbow and her feet didn’t reach his palm. Her mouth twisted into a yawn. His goddaughter.